Curse of the HJ7
by An Old User
Summary: These are journals based on the events of the play, but they lean heavily on the book for details. It all starts a week after Jekyll decides to stop taking the formula...
1. Pain

The Log-book of Dr. Henry Jekyll

Notes on his experiment on human duality

October the 24th 18--

I am addicted to the formula.

It has been a week since my last excursion, and I am suffering withdrawals. Sweating, nervousness, a tendency to fidget. These are the first signs, but they are going to get worse. If this follows the pattern of similar addictive drugs, the cravings for the adrenaline high which the HJ7 invokes will be maddening.

It is as if Hyde is actively fighting for his liberty.

I must break this. I can remember the ghastly events during his nights out, and nothing is worth bringing him back. Physical pain can never hope to measure up to the soul's damage.

I locked the drawer. That which holds the formula. And I have placed the key in the drawer above. I have no intention of opening either drawer, the first is locked solely because I do not know the effects of the drug. Should I become mad and try to force it open, the solid oak will stay true to its cause. The key is shut away, so that I do not have to look at the infernal thing. What you cannot see, you cannot think of. Were that were true.

I wish with all my soul that I could escape from this room, and go elsewhere. I care not where. Any place that does not reek of ether and calcium. Some place where I would not look at myself. Where I won't have to see my face dissolve into the devilish countenance of Hyde. But were these effects to worsen, suspicions would be aroused. It is doubtful anyone could think the truth, but the mind works in devious ways. There is a tendency for the just to divine things that they have no right to know.

Thus, I remain in my laboratory, waiting for these damned cravings to go away. Writing in my log does not seem to be alleviating any of the stress. I had full intentions of writing about the weather, or politics, or some other mindless topic which would distract me. Nevertheless, my mind refuses to quit. The thing a body cannot have is what it wants most. I will maintain my composure. Though I might sweat all the sodium out of my flesh, I will mot take that draught.

Ironically, as I thirst for the formula, I deny other sustenance. My appetite has failed me for the last day. I pick at whatever food I receive in meals, to keep Poole happy. Poor man. He has no idea what his master does in his study. He cannot know. He would not accept that his good friend has become an addict, as any beggar on the streets.

This writing is worsening my condition. All I continue to think of is that damned drug. I will write to-morrow. Perhaps then things will seem in my favor.


	2. Addiction

October the 25th 18--

In response to my earlier theory, the resolution is a harsh no. The cravings have worsened. Once, I found myself toying with the small iron key to the drawer. Upon coming to myself, I flung it across the room, and it lies there now, on the floor, near my dressing-table. Were someone to ask of it, I could describe the size and shape of the object, and the precise angle which it makes with the table. It is all I can manage not to look back at it. I had been staring for an hour, until I remembered my log. I write out of desperation, wanting activity. My senses have not yet failed me, but my body seems close. My hands shake uncontrollably, and I perceive a decline in my penmanship. I feel feverish, and my clothing is drenched with sweat. The resulting discomfort has caused me to twice change my attire.

I regret my extensive testing of the drug. It was, of course, my earlier enthusiasm that created this situation. My need to evaluate my discovery, to see the fruit of my work. I lie. In truth, I relished my time as Hyde. The novelty of such freedom, the pure unbridled power was too much for any man to dismiss. Though I am of considerably smaller stature when in my wicked embodiment, I am also far stronger. My limbs, unlike which I am used to, become thick and brutish. My hands, slender and comely as I write now, become coarse and hairy, with a grip that would break this pen. Other than my body and mind, there is another change, one that I have been unable, as of yet, to understand.

Earlier, I discussed a semblance of deformation. Though Hyde has neither twisted nose nor crooked lip, one shudders at the sight of him. People change their paths when walking, so they will not walk with him. Words falter on their lips as they try to speak to him. No one asks Hyde for the time or for directions. It is as if there is a cloud of poisonous gas around him, or (I have always been a Christian man, if fanciful, and I have no shame in saying this) darkened energy. It would be of little surprise to me. To see passer-by flee is a pleasure peculiar to Hyde. It makes him feel all the more jovial, if his malevolent disposition allows that description.

Again, my thoughts turn to the HJ7. I wonder what changes will have to be made to form the reverse, a destruction of Evil, instead of its liberty. I am close, but I must be targeting an incorrect area of the brain, or a different hormone. Where in the brain dwells evil? And what compound made it addictive? What triggered this overwhelming longing for the drug? The unyielding need for more?

Damn it. This is not working. I am becoming deceitful, and to myself, no less. Only recalling the evil which Hyde is capable of stops me. Yet, it would be too easy to pick up that key, and slip it into the lock. From there, already there is a dose prepared. To concede to this lust is all too simple, and there is little reason not to. Again I take control of my senses. After a few days I will leave the study again, cured, and life shall resume. I will not have to worry about Hyde, though I may miss my adventures. I would also miss the ease with which I do as I please, not caring about the rules of my stuffed-shirt fellows. Perhaps it would be just to give Edward one more time on the streets, one last chance to say goodbye to the people he has met, to those whom he has grown close. To deny a man his last request would be

Confound it! I am ready to go mad! Damn the formula and damn "Edward." They can rot as far as I care. He is taking advantage of my kind nature by making last requests. I will not let his evil out on the world. He can try whatever he likes!

Dear God. "He is taking advantage," "He can try"? Hyde is trying to get out. He is developing his own self. Hyde is separating. How long before he is capable of conversation? Before he can influence me?

Before he can fight me?

Why? I didn't plan this! I did not mean to empower evil! I want to live with my loved ones! I want to debate theorems with John, and talk with Emma! I am to be wed in a few months! I do not want to hurt those I love! I do not want to shut myself away!

And I tire of the relentless urge for this chemical! I will stand it no longer!

There! I will not sit without action! I will not allow you to ruin my life. The pain is already leaving me! See there, Hyde? I will...

No. He's tricked me. I've fallen into his trap. God have mercy upon us all.

**Pray that God will have mercy on you, Jekyll. You'll need it just as much as anyone else.**


	3. Fear

October the 26th 18—

I'm forcing myself to write. I need to keep a record.

I feel terrible. Dry mouth, headache, it's impossible to guess how much Hyde had to drink last night. Not to mention what in God's name he was drinking. It most certainly was not Merlot. Still, I find this preferable to remembering what happened. Physical pain is still nothing compared to the damage that Hyde wreaks, both upon others and myself.

Here it comes. He went for a walk. Stopped in some buildings of ill-repute, to tease the workers. He went to a tavern and started a brawl. Broke some poor fellow's nose...and went home. Oh, thank you God. He could have done worse. This explains the bruises on my arms, and why one of my best shirts is in ruins. I don't mind so much. The fear of what could have happened is still foremost in my mind. He could have killed the man as easily as he bloodied his face.

I wouldn't put it past him.

I now have about a week before I start to go into withdrawal. I might have less. Hyde has probably grown stronger from last night. When he fought me. And won. I was so out of my mind with the need for the HJ7 that I gave in. That cannot happen again. It mustn't. But how can I change things? My resolve was strong. Should I smash the vials? Run from my apartments? Give Poole the key to the once-again-locked drawer?

I want to run more tests on the HJ7. If only they'd given me a test subject! It's damned hard to remain impartial when running experiments on your on body.

In the midst of all the fatigue and worry, part of me feels better, as if I'd solidly beaten Utterson in a debate, or proven a theorem to a cocky student. It's Hyde. He enjoyed his time out, and is lounging, gathering his own strength, waiting until I am weak again. I can only hope he stays satisfied for a while.

Because I can't let him go back to those whorehouses. He was eyeing Lucy. I refuse to let him hurt her. I don't even know her, but in a way, she reminds me of Emma. They are from different worlds, their codes of conduct would clash horribly if they ever met, but they both have courage. They both have to put on a mask for the outside, one that is sure of everything. But deep own, they both to be rid of their places. Lucy hates the lower-class ruffians, and Emma wished that the blowhard Earls would just deflate their egos. If I find any woman attractive, she is in danger of Hyde. Lucy especially. It would be a simple matter of Hyde to "borrow" some of my money, and...buy her for the night. I cannot let him hurt her.

I will be spending the rest of this week in my study. I need to counteract this formula, or find some sort of adrenaline trigger, or something that will keep Hyde at bay.

I can do it, but I fear it may take longer than a week.


	4. Regret

November the 2nd 18—

I have not written in here, as I have been working all week. Some chemicals similar to adrenaline have held off the cravings, but Hyde again wants to be released. I can feel emotions that are not mine, displeasure, impatience, even some of claustrophobia, and I know they are from Hyde, growing stronger by the day.

It is sickening, and at the same time, natural, that I am coming to regard Hyde as a separate entity. At times, it feels similar to the thought process of one debating his options, yet at others, I feel myself arguing against things that I have no wish at all to do. That is Hyde's doing.

Though we have memory in common, I have found that it takes a while for these memories to travel between personas. It takes about an hour to remember everything that Hyde has done, longer still if he has been drinking. It takes Hyde less time to remember things that I have done, but he, caught up in the pleasure of his own freedom, doesn't take time to think about much. I believe if I were to hide some piece of paper, or my log-book before I transformed, Hyde would not even think to look for it. This is how I think to keep this safe. I feel that he might like to be revenged for his imprisonment. If he has any thoughts of Jekyll, they cannot be good ones.

I am tired. If I do not take a chance to sleep, these bags under my eyes may become permanent. Ha! I wonder what Emma would say to that. She'd probably find some remedy for it, from my own textbooks. I haven't seen her in a fortnight. I'm such a terrible fiancé. To-morrow, I think I can take some time off to call upon her.

That is, if Sir Danvers will allow me to. He's a good man, and he's always been supportive of my studies. He didn't vote against me at St. Jude's. I know that must have led to an inquiry of some sort. Whatever misgivings he may have, he trusts me.

I hope I can be deserving of that trust.


	5. Torment: Hyde

Quick Note from Thalia:

Regarding Feral Claw: Hugs I ish ok, don't worry. But it needed to be written. Know what I mean?

Regarding EriEka127: Thank you! I'm working really hard to make sure that everything said is said in character, because I hate it when people just take characters and doas they please. I love Henry Jekyll, and it really drives me nuts when people decide to use the story and royally screw around with his character. So I did extensive book reasearch to make sure I stayed true to the characters. Kinda. I've had the play memorized since I was six, and I've read the book a million times. But I still make sure that everything a character says has a reason behind it.

Oh, and your request for a Hyde sub story? No. Wanna know why? Because...

...what would Jekyll's log book be without someone deciding to desicrate it...?

November 14, 18--

**Hello, Henry. And I continue to thank you for those moments of weakness. You're an inspiration to the drug-addicted man in all of us.**

**You've done a wonderful job of keeping a record, but I came to the realization that you have neglected to cover my observations.**

**Shame on you, Henry. When only one person adds to the record, it becomes biased. So I've taken pen in hand to remedy the situation.**

**What to write. I'm not accustomed to these "finer pleasures" of yours. Perchance I may find a topic that I care to write about...**

**Why are you keeping an account anyway? Anyone could see that you find your situation rather unpleasant, and that you plan to cover it up afterwards. So why do you drag yourself through these events again? It's rather masochistic, you know. You're liable to drive yourself mad with such depressing talk. And I detest your stuffy self-righteousness as much as you hate my self-gratification.**

**Ugh! I am talking like you; I have turned to self-analysis. That has to stop. I don't give a damn what others think of me. I don't care what I think of myself, so to speak. I don't have the time for self-loathing. Cuts into other ventures, and I have barely enough time as it is before I change back. I tried taking a second dose, but I transformed immediately afterward. Put that into your log, will you? After all, you're working on an antidote, and I shall endeavor to help in any way that I am able. Excuse me for a moment, I feel an urge to laugh coming on.**

**Ah. Where was I? Oh, yes. Inundating you with my witty sarcasm. Ha! I do believe I love your vocabulary. Your words allow me to perfectly and succinctly explain everything.**

**Everything that doesn't matter, that is. Chemical reactions, aesthetic art, blah. Nothing to describe the satisfaction one feels when a jawbone cracks beneath his clenched fist. So I've learned some new words out on the streets. I am quite sure that you will not find them in any dictionary, but they work well nonetheless. I've even written some of them in your books for you. The best ones fit well next to your own annotations in your bible. You probably don't want to show them to the priest, though. Wait. On second thought, do. He could use something to shake him up. Better still, show them to the bastard bishop. The one from St. Jude's hospital. There's a man that could do with a bit of roughing up. Henry, you agree with me on this one. I know you don't want to, nbut that's just more self-denial (which also has to stop). So next Sunday, when you are finished sowing him the assorted blashphemes, close the book and swat him in the head with it. Knock off his ridiculous hat. You'll feel better for it. I certainly would, just knowing that my other self isn't some priss woman.**

**And while we're on the topic, may I tell you how worthless you are on the subject of women? Whenever one walks up, you act as if she's some deity far above your status. Call if manners if you want to. I call it sniveling. Do you know what happens in other parts of town? Women are treated as the trinkets they are. You have to get over the idea that not just women, but other people have value. They are just there to serve your needs. Like Lucy. You want her. You also want Emma. So? Henry, you're limiting yourself. One woman? Wait until marriage? So you enjoy closing yourself off from the world? Are you REALLY a masochist?**

**Well, whatever you are, I am not you. I revel in the moment, and plan to celebrate this. I tink i shall tiake the left over money in your wallet and rent Miss Harris out for the night. I won't write afterwards. Why bother? You'll remember it all afterwards. Maybe it will give you a whole new outlook on life.**


	6. Anguish: Jekyll

Quick note from Thalia: I hate Edward Hyde. And I hate writing as him. As an actress, I have to get in his mindset. And I hate thinking like him, and sneering and laughing at his jokes. But I like thinking like Jekyll. And I like giving him an outlet through the log book. Pats him on the head he needs it.

18—

Damn you, Hyde. God Damn you! How could you treat anyone like that?

I am only now remembering all that you did late night. You got me so bloody drunk that I threw up when I awoke, and the resulting nausea has disallowed me to eat. I couldn't remember anything of the day before. And as I sat, trying to piece together what had happened, who should call but Miss Lucy Harris!

When Poole showed her in, she was in a right state. Her left eye was blackened, her throat and wrists were swollen, and hand-marks were distinct upon her flesh. Not to mention the various ugly bruises all over. I treated every injury in sight, but as these were from a "gentleman caller," I know that I cannot treat the worst ones.

Angered, I inquired as to the author of her pain, and, with a shudder akin to mortal terror, the wretched girl replied that one "Edward Hyde" had harmed her. Dread crept into my veins. I treated her to the best of my medical knowledge, and did my best to reassure her, being far from reassured myself. She's a strong woman. Miss Harris took everything in stride, and was even able to smile at her own misfortune. I never cease to be amazed at the power of the human spirit. I don't know how anyone could stand being treated like that. But she just spoke of "the downsides of business," and left.

Not long after I said good-bye to Miss Harris, my memory returned. No sane man would have acted as you did. No human conscious would allow anyone to ignore the screams of the innocent. It wasn't enough that you had to succumb to your animal lust, not enough to rape her, but you had to beat her as you did!

I swear that I will rid the world of you. I am not leaving my rooms until I have found a way to destroy you. I will test anything that has the slightest chance of destroying you. And if the only possible solution is one that includes a large dose of cyanide, so be it.

Do not think that I will hesitate to take my own life. If you are the voice of blunt truth, then you know my resolve. If you know me as well as you say you do, you know that I will not stand for such abominations.

Your memories stand afresh, cutting through my headache. It's only fitting that the dominant pain should be foremost, correct? And ironic that you documented every moment through your drunken eyes. You made an effort to remember. If this visual record is a mockery of my own written one, then you have a greater mind for science than you give yourself credit, Hyde. And your contribution to my log was helpful. Perchance you are more like me than you would like to think. You might want to write more often, it might bring your intelligence above the level of a three-year-old. Indeed, your "new words" which you have so painstakingly inscribed within my books can be found in the most puerile of vocabularies, and betray a simplicity of mind commonly found in children of that same age.

If you will excuse me, I have work to do.


	7. Confusion: Hyde

**October 16, 18—**

**Bravo, Henry. HJ8 is similar to HJ7. It even caused the same transformation. A variation on your formula, that's all? I expected so much better...**

**I see you've met Lucy again. We had fun. I'd give you the full account, but you've seen it firsthand so I'll dispense with any explanations. I would also like to ask you what you thought, but you have given me quite an earful on the subject, and I didn't care in the first place! I fully intend to continue seeing her, and if you dislike the way I act, it's really quite a pity. That's what she's there for, Jekyll. Get over it.**

**I liked your attempt at an insult. Fools like Mr. Stride may fall for your wordy and twisting remarks, but nothing there fazed me. I already told you. I don't care what anyone thinks of me. The idea of becoming like you is distasteful. Still, it remains to be seen if I have decency.**

**And here is an amusing bit of irony for you. Lucy came to you for help. The stupid little slut runs to the same man who hurt her in the first place. You are me. Everything I think or do comes straight from your own desires. Whereas you have pieces of rubbish that I don't. All of me is in you, but not vice versa. Something to think of, ain't it? Everything I do, deep down you wish you could do. Every bit of that night with Lucy, you wanted to do. **

**With that thought, I will leave you. There's a whore out there with my name on her.**

**Or rather, there will be when I'm done with her.**


	8. Prevention: Jekyll

October 17, 18—

It's about eleven o'clock. It is also worth noting that HJ8 does not last as long as HJ7. On his way to The Red Rat, I was able to wrest control of my person from Hyde.

I need to be more careful with this testing. Hyde is, to put it lightly, a highly unstable variable. I cannot guess what his next actions will be, except that they terrify me to think of afterwards. He was going to hurt Lucy. Worse than he did before, if that is conceivable. I won't let him hurt her.

I am going to change the bolt on my door. Fix it so that it can be affixed from the reverse side. To let myself out, I can request Poole or one of the other servants to enter, possibly under the pretext of fetching a chemical. Unless Hyde wishes to be discovered, he will be locked in. The windows present a problem to lock, but I doubt Hyde will attempt to gain his liberty through them. He is daring, but there is neither handhold nor foothold, and nothing to hinder a fall from three stories. Thus secured, I am free to experiment in my study, if such a state can be compared to freedom.

I miss Emma. A week ago, while I was out getting chemicals, I saw her walking. I explained my absence with over-work. I've never lied to her before. I won't say that I am brutally honest, but I've never kept something so important from her. It scared me how easily I lied around it. We have always been open, and now, at the time when I need her most, I can't tell her. I wish I could hold her in my arms, hear her reassure me, and know that she's there. But no sooner does the thought enter my head, then I remember the way Hyde treated Lucy, his perversion of closeness, and I wish never to touch, or even to look at a woman again. I want to be alone forever. For fear of Hyde, that any innocent emotion I have may be twisted, and distorted into some fresh evil through his actions.

I would never enjoy to hurting anyone. I hate Simon Stride, and at times I think he deserves a good thrashing for the contemptuous things he said to Emma, but I wouldn't enjoy killing him. Hyde would. Does that mean deep down, that I want to kill Stride? Does it mean that I would find pleasure in assaulting Lucy?

No. That cannot be me. A human is too intricate to broken down into segments. Without the good, Hyde cannot be me. Because that is a vital part of who I am. It influences the choices that I make, and others' opinions of me, which are not without some base. What separates me from him is what makes me a good person. What makes me care for others, and delight in their happiness, not just my own. Hyde cannot understand what joy there is in seeing a loved one smile, or the music in Emma's laugh. He cannot love, or feel empathy. He can only clutch onto his sad bit of life. It is so dear to him. He delights in everything small that pleases him, at times not unlike a child. I am shocked that I can find it in my heart to pity him. He has only one love, and what an all-encompassing passion it is! So wonderful is his love of life.


	9. Rage: Hyde

EriEka127: Okay. I already wrote this chapter, and, as much as I don't want to admit it, I had fun. Is hit over 73H head by Feral I'm loading it early. Presents! I might load some others late though...

****

**October 17, 18—**

**Touching sentiment, filled with eloquent words, ultimately meaning nothing. You pity me? After what you've seen me do? You pity me? I don't need or want your pity. I write to mock you. Your HJ9 is another failure, like the rest. All that have come before and will come after. You can't get rid of me. I'm you. And If you did manage to keep me from coming out all at once, you might be worse off for it. You might find yourself acting strangely at certain times. You've seen the minor transformations that men undergo each day. And each time you got angry, or acted under impulse, it would be me, not you. Think of that the next time you are tempted. Think of how you are losing control to me. It happens every day, Jekyll, of its own accord. You weren't able to stop me when I was a part of you, and now that I am me, there's no chance. **

**Why do you persist? Why do you continue in your pursuit of self-destruction? Why can you not accept that, like your need for food and water, I am a part that must be appeased? Other men have come to terms with it, Jekyll. You have money, so you do not need to work. You have money that can be engaged in so many grand activities! Why use it to pay your servants twice the going rate, or give to charities? It does not benefit you!**

**Let me out, Jekyll. Let me out of this Goddamn room! I tire of annotating your books and smashing your chemicals! I know you have extras, that you can order more. I even tire of destroying finery. I'll burn the portrait of your father if you don't let me out! Your dear sick father. The reason you started your holy quest to rid the world of evil. Your drooling, insane, mentally lost father! Do you think you've done his memory proud? Do you still think you can save him? He will rot in that asylum, and die as gibbering a fool as he is currently. And there is nothing you can do that will change his fate. You know it! You want to save him, but you are helpless! As helpless as you were to save Lucy from what I did to her. And when I get out, no amount of kind words will be able to fix what I will do this time. I will break her! I will break everyone you love! And I will break you, Henry Jekyll, until you are as mad as your father! And no one will ever need to know, Because then I will be free, to do as I please, and I will. I will smell the distinct London Air, and know that I own London. I am getting taller, Henry. I am almost as tall as you, and strong enough to throttle any man in my way.**

**I will wreck you, Henry.**


	10. Deliberation: Jekyll

EriEka127: Such high praise...blushes thank you very much. I'm working on a big fat Hyde rant for the next journal, and I promise that I'll put my all into it, 'k?

Sil: Domo Arigato Gozimasuo! (think I spelled that right) Bows on ground in accordance with Japanese uber-thank you I'm having someone proofread the chapters as I type. I will have the editted chapters up as soon as I can.

Feral Claw: Oh man, I'm gonna get sat on...shrugs so long as I don't get THE FACE...

--

Writing the same day as Edward's earlier comments

Now who has the upper hand? You can smash anything you want, but you will not impede my progress. By the clock, this formula lasted less than the previous one and now that I know for sure which chemical to increase, I think I have an antidote.

Now where are your remarks?

HJ10 should counteract the effects of HJ7. I believe that the chemical will restart the areas of the brain that shut down during transformation. I still do not understand the physical change, but if Hyde's mind can be contained, I hope his body will follow.

There are far too many calculations necessary for this business. My best chances are guess-work. I have spent so many years working on this formula, so long mapping out how I expected it to work, only to have my assumptions inverted. I have to face the fact that I truly do not know how my life's work functions. That my hypotheses were all wrong.

Hypothesis. I used to have faith in that word. It meant days of research by men dedicated to their work. It meant testing, time, and credit from the leading scientists! It meant the convictions of men like me, who would place their career, their name, everything, in this hypothesis.

Now it means guess-work. It means margin of error, that I cannot be completely sure. This is a time in which I need certainties, for miscalculations could mean the difference between myself or Hyde.

More than ever I regret my extensive testing of the formula. I have lost time, which I had never thought to be an issue. My whole life had been waiting for me. Yet Hyde grows stronger with each transformation. Indeed, at times I fancy I can hear his voice within my mind, a dark conscience threatening to replace the one which I have worked so hard to build. When I first consumed the formula, I had control over my own choices. It would be a lie to say that I was myself, but the transition was from one persona to a reflection. Since then, Hyde has developed on his own. He has new ambitions, new ideas, fresh horrors of which I could never conceive.

Or can I? Have I? Do I dream of such cruelty? In my mind's passing thoughts, do I wish to accomplish what Hyde does achieve? I continue to say no, that my thoughts are cleaner. I agonize over it each day, and bombard myself with feeble arguments in the hope of convincing myself. But I cannot believe Hyde's sins are separated from my own. Anything he says or thinks I repent for. Every thing he does brings another sleepless night filled with prayer. And yet, if God does forgive me for what I have unleashed, I still cannot. I see the faces of those whom I have- Hyde has harmed- and feel this accursed burden placed anew upon my shoulders. I feel too weak for this task. And I wonder. Had I known the result of my experiments, would I still have drunk the formula? If I manage to survive, will I continue my search for humanity's essential goodness? Could I enter into the respectable life from whence I came?

Would the fear of evil keep me from the love of good?

No. I would do it again. I would undergo the pain of transformation my entire life if it would bring peace. I gave my word that I would dedicate my life to the pursuit of our higher senses, to true morality, and I keep my promises. This is not a matter of my own feelings. This is for all the other souls that exist. My quest is for those in pain. It is for an end to wars, to hatred. So that no one will weep or cry out in pain ever again.

But what about the others? Like Lucy. What have I done to all of them?

No matter what pain I would inflict upon myself, what destruction I would choose, I would not make their choice for them. Nor do I deserve to. As even my fondest dreams cannot hope to imagine the joy of a world without fear of evil, I cannot imagine the magnitude of destruction pure evil could wield. Even one man, lacking good, could destroy more than I believe I could imagine.

I do not doubt that Hyde is without compassion or kindness. Who would know better than I, who have heard his thought processes in my head, and seen how his chooses each night's goings-on? Nor do I doubt that there are other men in the world who should be called evil. However, they have some bit of goodness, some virtue, deep within their corroded souls. Hyde lives in pursuit of his next thrill. Though I have seen him use foresight in certain situations, (fleeing from the scene of a crime before the police arrive instead of continuing to attack a bystander) for the most part, he is so elated in his actions that he lives in the moment.

I on the other hand, cannot stop thinking about the future. A million plans formulate in my mind. Plans of work, love, life after Hyde. And what once was so clear is now shrouded in fog.

Down the road, my path is uncertain. But for the next few miles, I can see what life holds for me. I have only one choice.

I must destroy Hyde.


	11. Contemplation: Jekyll

November the 22nd 18—

Utterson called today. He says he worries about me. He noticed the odd locking mechanism on my door, and perceived its use. I made a passing comment on "necessary precautions" and attempted to change the subject. He noted my avoidance of the topic, and again questioned my hermit-like habits. Though I tried repeatedly to speak of other things, I have underestimated his skill with conversation on more than one occasion, and this time, as well as the others, I found it hard to combat the verbal skills of a lawyer. He redirected the conversation with tact, and debated relentlessly. Throughout our conversation, I had made an effort to remain civil, drawing upon my vast well of patience. But my long nights filled with work and torturous combat with Hyde seem to have dried that well. I snapped at John, accusing him of ignorance and disloyalty, among other things. I requested that he return only when he had an inkling of my work, which he should have understood after years of friendship. He was hurt deeply by my cutting remarks, and, as a true friend would, he still did not back down from his goal. Though he admitted that he could not fathom my situation, he pledged his aid and refused to allow me to wallow in self-pity. I did my best to thank him, and promised that I would someday tell him the details of my isolation. He forgave me for my mindless declarations and left, far from reassured, but satisfied.

I am not obsessed with my work. Getting rid of Hyde is not some hobby, which I could choose to discontinue. Would the Prime Minister be called obsessed with the welfare of his country? It is his job, and an important one at that. I too, must work until I achieve my goals, not just for my sake, but for that of those whose fates are also at stake.

Yet, it seems that Utterson's words had more than an ounce of truth to them. After another hour of work, it became clear that I could no longer close myself inside the study. I needed to get out, or I would suffer from what is known upon ships as "cabin fever." It is an affliction similar to claustrophobia caused by the confinement of a person for weeks on end. It would not be out of the realm of the possible to perceive my circumstances as similar. Though it would not be impossible to push myself still further, the quality of my work would severely decrease, and that is something which no one can afford at this time. I washed, put on fresh clothing, and went for a walk. It is the first time I've left my home in weeks, as either Hyde or myself.

London has never been more beautiful. The misty, smoky London air has never seemed so crisp. I found myself perfectly at ease with the great mass of humanity walking and bustling through the streets. It felt wonderful and exciting to see so many people, and what is such a vast landscape compared to my study.

Most of the trees were bare, but a few stubborn maples had managed to retain their leaves, and remained brilliantly colored, like fire-works, those amazing feats of pyro-engineering of which the Chinese are so fond. I stood for some time, leaning upon my walking stick, watching the wind blow through a particularly lovely one. I imagine that my reputation was damaged by this, and that I am now called a simpleton or worse by those who saw me staring at a tree. Yet now my priorities are different, and I should be surprised to find myself caring less about what the rest of the upper class thinks of me. What I discovered this afternoon was far more important than a frivolous rumor.

I have always been a connoisseur of art, yet never could I hope to see the colors and gentle motion of that tree captured upon a canvas. I considered taking a leaf to adorn my study (which is in desperate need of color), but it would wither within days. It then occurred to me that this spectacle will also be gone in a few days, after which, the tree shall never again give quite the same dazzling show as it did this afternoon. For a few minutes, I fancy that I felt the immensity of time, and understood the transience of life. Death comes far too quickly for humans to grasp life's sweetness. We do not savor each moment of time as we should. No one can say they give the passing seconds their due. We never stop and look at the leaves, never see the ambers, crimsons, saffrons, viridians, emeralds, any of the magnificent and breathtaking hues they have to offer, in just one tree.

I did not expect it, but I am learning from Hyde. He holds every moment dear. And although I will not and cannot live as he does, living in pursuit of gratification, I can find pleasure in the little things that God places along my way. I can savored the feel of the brisk November wind in my face, the protection which my coat offered against the cold...

I marveled in the existence of a tree.

After my walk, I returned home, dined, and again locked myself inside my study. I spent another hour calculating formulas and preparing a new sample for testing. Sleep calls, yet I will work through the night until it overtakes me. Unless I am very much mistaken, my upset stomach is the herald of a new set of withdrawals.

Yet, I can close my eyes, and for a moment, picture life, clear and perfect, through the peace brought by a single tree.

Then I can continue working.


	12. Murder: Hyde

_Lady Bedivere: Thanks! I have to get into the mindset to write as either one, and when I'm doing a Hyde chapter, I'm not always fun to be around. ; What can I say? I'm method!__  
My Divinest: Okay: here's my longest chapter yet.  
FireFuryFlame: Blushes I tried to use quotes earilier on, but it was interfereing with the flow of ideas. Grimaces at how stuck up that sounded  
EriEka: Where is everyone seeing Jekyll and Hyde?!? Suddenly everyone is seeing it and ticketmaster won't tell me where! AARRRRGGGHH! Goes into withdrawl the likes of which no one has seen since she couldn't find the Phantom CDs and crawls to her romm to fall asleep to the soundtrack, consequently having nightmares  
Feral Claw: Am I being boycotted for not listening? ;-)_

_Yes, this is the first time I've updated it in a while, and I am very sorry about that. What with school, activities, and the constant fight to battle the evil deep within myself (only kidding, Feral-chan), I haven't had time to type things up. I actually have the last three or four chapters written, but not typed.I just need to write the ones in the middle. But, as you'll read after this chapter, it's all downhill from here..._

**December the 4th 18—**

**Oh, I feel wonderful.**

**You haven't let me get out in the fresh air for too long, henry. You've kept me cooped up inside that dreadfully boring study chamber of yours. That was one of your less brilliant ideas. I couldn't take much more of that existence, you see, and thought about just ending it all, you know throwing myself from the window and all that. Show you up one last time by taking our lives.**

**As if I believed in suicide.**

**All the same, I did throw myself from the window. I was able to land properly (though not without injury to my clothing), with minimal damage to my person. If the wind is something to feel while on the ground, you must try it in midair. quite a charge.**

**You see, I believe in setting your desires free. Built up anger always leads to stress and disorders of the mind and body. I am one of those parts of your mind that needs to be released. I have told you this numerous times, Henry, yet you still don't have the sense to listen. Far from holding a grudge, I have acted in your best interests tonight. Something has been bothering you lately. Or rather, someone.**

**I was on my way to The Red Rat (or "The Dregs" as I have also heard it called), when I spied someone who would hardly be expected to be found in such an area of town. It was the Right Honorable Lord Bishop of Basingstoke. You remember him, Henry? He is a current member of the board of governors to St. Jude's Hospital, and, if your memory serves, one of the ingrates who so callously turned down your experimentation requests. He disgraced you, and only over a trifling matter of human testing.**

**I noticed him with a younger girl, and, considering the circumstances, thought her rather unlikely to be his daughter. I made a clever comment on his company, and was about to pass, when I thought of you. You see, I knew that you would be appalled at this situation. And, as we already had a bit of a quarrel to pick with His Honor, due to his behavior at your hearing, I took the sword at his side and stabbed him through the neck**

**Rather a bit of blood, I'm afraid. Billowed out like champagne from a shaken bottle. The girl was beside herself, ran off as little more than a screaming mess. I on the other hand, felt an inclination to laugh. Bit of the system of relief. I then went to the nearest pub, and spent the rest of your pocket-money on liquor (you really ought to keep more on hand), and returned to the house via the back door.**

**I feel rather at peace with the world right now, having had my excitement for the night. Don't worry, Henry. You don't have to worry about much else. I feel inclined to sit and write for a bit longer. I am much too drunk to do anything else. I think I will be changing back soon, and though I don't give a rat's ass about you, I shouldn't like to be chained up in some cell.**

**By now the liquor has faded, and your memory has probably returned in full. I know that you hate it when I drink, but I prefer to leave you with surprises. That way I can tell you myself.**

**God! I wish I could see the look on your face when you read this. I wish I could see you as you recall my actions. All I have to go on are your memories of reaction. That isn't the same as seeing it, though. But I can remember how it goes with you and bad news. First, there's the shock, and a feeling of numbness, not unlike a hand or foot regaining circulation. Your mind prickles, details sliding into the clear, the vague indistinctness of things coming into focus. Then the truth begins to sink in, but just the idea, not deep thought. You're still distanced from everything. The pictures in your mind are as distant as the words in the journal, like some novel. The pain of others is merely that of characters in a book, sad but unimportant.**

**My favorite part is when your obsession with pain sets in, and you begin to worry about how the victim felt. Suddenly you remember that they are (were) real people. I can assure you, Henry, that the Bishop didn't feel very much before the end hit him. The reaper had swung before the corpse hit the ground! He continued to bleed, and I think the sight of his body will cause the more effeminate to faint, but his concerns are no longer yours. No one but the girl saw me do it, and I can hardy see the police taking the word of a young whore. Who will believe that the bishop was going at it with children? Who will even want to think that a priest has those urges? The situation is safe. There is no one to spoil it.**

**Oh. You'll also be bemoaning that I killed a church official. Come now, you aren't even Catholic. Thank God you're not, right? You're probably already going to Hell for what we've done, but that's all you need to make this life worse. Confession! All the 'Hail Marys' in the world probably can't buy back a priest. Heh. I'd like to see the reaction our confession would make. "Hello, your "Holy-ship-ness". I'd like to apologize to God for drinking to excess, accosting several of my fellow men, repeated rape of a trollop, oh… and what else was there? Oh yes, Remember that murder a few days ago? I killed your church superior!" Yes, that would be fun. It wouldn't be worth the risk, it would be insane, even for my actions, but it would be extraordinary. No matter, I feel the beginnings of a headache, and I would rather avoid it. I'm going to bed.**

**Sweet dreams, Henry.**


	13. Experimentation: Jekyll

December 11, 18—

Hyde has killed two more members of the Board of Governors. Three murders in a week. It's unheard of. London's finest are working on it, and they have absolutely nothing. Hyde has only allowed glimpses of himself to be seen. All they can describe him as is "kind of deformed." There is nothing wrong with Hyde's face. His heart (if it can be called such) falsifies it. It is the face of evil. The police believe he is some common criminal, hiding out in a shack in the less genteel part of town. They would never suspect that their killer is from the upper class. No one would want to believe that anyone with a full line of noble blood could shed others'.

I have concocted a new formula, which I call the EH1. Subtle joke there. The HJ7 may yet be my doom, but I will make sure that the EH1 spells out Hyde's. I take my chances to mock him when they come. There is very little reserve left in our dealings. When one of us transforms, his first thought upon awakening are anger towards the other, his lips cursing a condemnation to the other before they attempt to eat. It is harder to call his actions as my own, for I make it that way. I fight to block out his memories, distancing myself from him.

One of his greatest weapons has always been his ability to guilt me. Everything he has said has lifted a mirror to myself, causing immediate self-reflection and the need to repent. But no longer. If I can become immune to that tactic, I can fight. If I can convince myself of my morals, I can be safe.

It isn't easy. He is still a part of me, and killing the Board of Governors brings more satisfaction than killing my family or friends. He hates the people I hate, though he does not love who I love. Hyde is not picking his victims at random. He has chosen my foes, because he knows of my deep hatred for them. Even in death, I cannot think well of them. Killing my loved ones would fill me with pain, but killing those I hate brings the guilt back. His goal is to keep me tied to his actions. And I have never been very good at getting rid of guilt.

He still hurts Lucy and I cannot stop him. That is the worst of it. She continues to come for my help, and Hyde laughs each time. He laughs at the lunatic, insane irony of it all. I have tried barring the windows, but Hyde is not going to back down now. He refuses to stop, and even if the police were outside my door, I think he would still be tempted to leave, wondering if they would even recognize him. He is cocky and spiteful. I wonder which would will prevail within him. He is complex enough to argue within his own thoughts now. His habit of caution might save Lucy yet. He is starting to fear being caught. That is what I hope will finally bar him to this room as locks and doors cannot. I hope that fear of the gallows will keep him from fleeing. His sole passion will keep him from itself. The need for life will keep him from experiencing it.

This is purely conjecture. Though I feel I know Hyde, at times he has proven me wrong, for though he is a part of me, he does what I do not. He imagines what I dare not. I do not like to think like him, but that time may have come. The locks on my doors are gone, and I fight from outside my study now, allowing myself to walk along the streets daily, fixing my social status and viewing things from a more wicked eye. I need to understand the way he thinks, I need to rid myself of what makes me Jekyll, and become Hyde. I have been scared that I will find his own urges within me, but it is vital that I do, and that I do not beat them away as I have trained to do. I must find out what he plans to do, so that I may stop it.

And then, I cannot let myself feel guilty of what I discover. I must unearth the parts of myself that I have strained to dismiss as something else, then forgive myself. I do not know how I will learn to forgive myself for allowing myself to become Hyde, even for a short time. It is something I must do, or I will become him for much longer.


	14. Endurance: Jekyll

January 26, 18—

After the death of the fifth member, I stopped writing. A problem came to my attention. My stores of salt, the final ingredient of the HJ7, are waning. If it were common table salt, then it would be very easy to procure more, then I could request that Poole go to a nearby shop. However, the chemical must be pure. Absolutely pure. The last reaction cannot take place otherwise.

I would have welcomed this news. I would be willing to stop my experimentation and work on the EH1 to rid myself of Hyde. I would stop taking the drug, and whether I lived or died in the process, Hyde would be gone. London would once again be safe for all.

The situation has changed.

Yesterday, the weather was more favorably than it has been of late. The afternoon sun shone brightly in a clear sky, and the breeze was moderate. I stepped outside the study with the intention of a promenade, spirits quite lifted at the thought of a day liberated from study.

As I crossed the threshold, my center of gravity lunged forward. The horizon rocked back and forth, blurring as it fled from my sight. My first migraine shot through my head, and the sun's light- which had only moments before been warm and inviting- burned my eyes, and I cried aloud as it increased the pain in my head. I cowered from the day, collapsing from the pain. The pain subsided after a minute, and I slowly stood up, wondering at the source of the change. Rather quickly, I regained my composure, and the day looked ever more appealing after such a brush with death. I laughed aloud at my previous misfortune, and rubbed my hands in anticipation of the day's activities.

At that point, I looked down at my hands. They were large and thick. I felt my hair, which had become thick and unruly. The truth burst into the front of my mind.

I was Hyde.

Usually, I/he would have taken advantage of this chance, but the murders of the Board of Governors have not yet lost prominence in the papers. He was foolish enough to let himself be seen, and they continue to run his picture, in the hope that someone will see him. Here he/I was now, standing in broad daylight, waiting to be captured. Hyde ran inside, swearing at the top of his lungs, using the worst words I know, and creating new phrases where necessary. He hurled the drawer open, spilling irreplaceable chemicals everywhere, compounded the draught, and drank it. The HJ7, as I had hypothesized, returns Hyde to Jekyll as well as it turns Jekyll to Hyde. Upon coming to myself, I locked the door again.

Hyde's dream has been realized. The transformations now occur of their own accord. I have been using the HJ7 whenever I feel the pangs that precede the change, but if the transformations occur daily, I will quickly run out.

The human body was never meant to undergo such chemical treatments. Of course, the transformations themselves are far from natural.It reshapes the bones and the flesh. I have felt them contort and twist under the strain. Hyde is shorter than I, thus it is that the bones shrink in size. Other than height, he is larger than I, with bigger muscles, etc. Our mass should be the same, which works with the laws of matter. When you make a chemical reaction, you do not lose any bits of any of the substances. Sometimes things are given off in gaseous form, but they aren't destroyed.

That has all made sense until now. I have lost a lot of weight, due to the energy-consuming task of transforming. Though Hyde is not as solid as he once was, he has grown taller. In theory, he would grow with his strength, and if he can transform on his own, he should be incredibly strong. But this defies nature. Or what we know of it.

I have searched years for this formula, worked to understand how it might work and be made. I researched spiritual properties, as well as physical and mental, looking into things no chemist (or man of any science, for that matter) with an ounce of pride would. I realize that I am in over my head in this area, which makes the creation of the EH1 even harder. I do not know where the HJ7 deviated from its original course, so how can I hope to correct it?

Someone is at the door. It is John Utterson. I contacted him about a change to my will. He's early; I didn't expect him to come for another few hours. I shall resume writing tomar

_(The writing trails off here)_


	15. Disclosure: Jekyll

_This is kind of the second part of the two-parter entry. But you all already knew what was going to happen, right?_

January 26, 18—

It is over. Oh God, I'm ruined! Utterson knows the truth.

Hyde had the brashness to change back in front of him. As I completed my log entry, I felt the pains that herald his coming. Sometimes the transformations can be brought on by panic and stress, and that is what I believe happened.

I am surprised that Hyde did not kill John. What's another murder to someone as ruthless as he? Perhaps Hyde felt some of the trust I place in John. Maybe some part of our friendship shone through. I don't know; I'm in no mood to analyze what happened. I don't even wish to think of it, though all I can do is relive the scene in my head. I see the disgust in my friend's eyes change to horror as he views my face. I see it again and again, the dawning comprehension as he realizes that his closest friend is a serial killer! Why did he have to come? I did not expect him to come for a while longer. Why could he not have just waited? Why could he not arrive as he always does, as the minute hand clicks into place?

I cannot break down over this. I have to trust John. I have to trust that he will keep my secret. He is my best friend, not to mention my lawyer. His business is secrets, and his word is as good as truth. But how can I trust anyone with something like this? He may want to help, or take things into his own consideration. It is not his place to decide such things, and I truly hope that he understands that.

His visit today was business. I sent a letter to him, telling him that I needed him to make an amendment to my will. I have discussed this idea with him before, and he has always fought against it. But today he changed it without objection.

If I disappear for a prolonged and seemingly indefinite amount of time, one "Edward Hyde" is to inherit everything.

John did not have the strength within him to debate. I could have told him that Simon was to be my best man, and he would not have reacted. This time the point goes to me. An awful argument to win. I would gladly leave this amongst the piles of decisions he has made for the both of us, among all the fights I lost to his lawyer's skills. But Hyde made a rather convincing argument in his own case.

I also made John promise me something. If this provision were to come to pass, and Hyde were to ever get out of hand ever again, if he were to start killing again, that John would succeed in what I had failed to do. Someone will have to destroy Hyde. It may not be me, I may not live to see his demise, but it will occur. If it comes to it. John will kill me rather than let Hyde harm again. He will take away any chance of bringing me back, for the safety of all of London.

I don't know if he will be able to do it. His face was pallid as he heard my explanation, and his nod was far from determined. Were I in his place, I cannot imagine trying to kill him. But he is not a fanciful man. If he saw an innocent life in danger, he would stop the antagonist, even if it meant killing a guilty friend. He wouldn't let his love for a fallen friend stand in the way, no matter how close they had been. Because I wouldn't be myself any more. John wouldn't see his pal "Harry" Jekyll. (God, How clearly I still remember those days at school!) John would hate Hyde with one glance, and do the right thing. Anyone, looking at Hyde, would do the right thing. Anyone would hate him.

Does that mean they would hate me?


	16. Retribution: Hyde

**Damn it.**

**You didn't even lock the door. You left it wide open. You left it wide open because you know that I can't leave. You left it open because you knew I would run over and close it. You knew that I would flee to it and lock myself in rather than risk being caught.**

**Damn your self-control! I should waltz out and do as I please, as I always have. But you set limits on me. I was without limits. That was the difference between you and I. That you fled from your desires like a child from a dark room. You locked yourself away from any possible sin. And now you have found a way to imprison me as well. Found a way to make me force myself to stay.**

**I am going to kill you for this, Henry Jekyll! I will make you suffer! These are not empty threats. I am planning. I am going to find a way out. I will disguise myself, I will do something to gain my liberty. I will taste that freedom once again. There is nothing that you can do to stop me. I do not fear you. I only fear death. Astonishing, is it not? I admitted a weakness. But you know it already. You know that the only reason I stay in here is because I fear what the police can do to me. If they were in large enough numbers to catch me. One or two would be no problem. I know how to kill a man.**

**What shall I do with my freedom when I am liberated? Oh, I don't know. I'm not much for planning. Things are better on the spur of the moment. I shall have a grand time, and I will make up for all the hours spent in this room. The murders of the board of governors will be nothing compared to what I will do. And I shall make sure not to be greedy. I will think of you during y night out. I will give you some memories that will last you forever. I will do enough to break you forever! You will fall to the ground with the pain of what you see in your head. You will not be able to lift pen to paper. You will sob into your chemicals, you will go mad form the trauma of your memories. And them you will willingly give power over to me. You will acquiesce rather than have to ever feel the power of my evil against the weakness of your soul. You will ransom the safety of your loved ones with your own life. And then, I will be you.**

**Don't ask me what happens then. Life is too big to be planned. My face may be known in London, but here are other places where I am unknown. Perhaps Paris. Or somewhere in America. I can afford an apartment anywhere. With the fortune your father left you, anything is possible. Perhaps I will be so happy in my new life that I actually will leave London for good, and thus let your friends alone. I don't think I shall care by that point. Revenge only goes so far.**

**I truly might leave now if you give up. I value the easy way of doing things, and you can tell when I lie. So let that be our bargain. Life will be far better as me, and you know that that is the truth. No regrets, far less fear, and much more power. If you ever surface, then you can feel better knowing that you have made life safe for thousands of people, and among those will be those for whom you care.**

**If you don't agree, I shall make you sorry you ever had a good idea in your head. You rue the day you drank the formula, you curse the moment I first opened my eyes. I shall make you regret ever imagining a perfect world. I will kill the ones you love, and take your life by force. These threats are no longer empty, Jekyll. I have become stronger than you. It is only a matter of time before I am the default persona.**

**Hold a moment. No. You won't give up, will you? I have given you chance after chance, haven't I? And still you persevere. You are as stubborn as I. I will have to give you a demonstration. After all, if you are to believe me, you need proof.**

**I think it is almost time for me to go out again. Last chance. I will make the most of my next time out.**


	17. Corruption: Jekyll

_Before you read this, I would like to take the oppurtunity to give you a look at the log-book itsself. So far, you've been reading the words written in it. But did you stop to think that you might be reading out of the real copy, written by Henry and Edward?  
It is leather bound and, and t__here are stains all over the pages of this entry. Most of them are red, but a few are pinkish, and the ink is dotted with tears. The handwriting is definitely that of the good Doctor, but it is almost illegible, very different from his normally meticulous script.  
Any misspellings are intentional._

Some bloody time of night, some bloody day, 18—

I cannot let Hyde kill Lucy. It's what he meant, you know. He means to kill Miss Lucy. It has been a while, but he means to kill her anyway. Kill her because he hates me, and hates her and hates everyone.

Yes he meant Miss Harris. You know, from the Red Rat. Course you know. It's that one club. Hyde's been there a thousand times. Maybe two thousand. Yes, two thousand it is.

Am I making sense? I should blooody well think not. I'm drunk, that's why. Drunk far more than I should…far far more.

Why? Why would Dr. Henry Jekyll drink himself to ill health when he gets sick so easily? He should know better, you would say. You can say. You can say that he should know better. And I do. I remember the only time I ever got drunk. Would you believe it? Three glasses of brandy! Go aheaed and laugh, I'm laughing too. Three God damned glasses and I had to leave. That's a man who doesn't drink. But I've been drinking now. When the bottles stop moving I'll count them. It's not proper for them to dance like that…

Tally marks:

Oh, dear, that's not anywhere near enough! Not near enough at all. Not if I'm to out-drink Edward. He's done far worse. Far far worse in bars with stronger stuff than this. I've plenty more though…

Oh, I never answered my question. Why am I drinking all this? Now let me think. I need to remember. It was something to do with something. Oh, yes! I need to out-drink Edward. But why? For Lucy, right? That's the ticket! So Hyde doesn't hurt her.

I rememember my plan now. It's brilliant, if I may be so generous as to commend myself. I sent John with a letter for Lucy. So she can go away before Hyde finds her. I gave her money, too. More than enough to start a new life. She can get away from that cursed brothel. Damned brothel. Damned.

So where does the liquor come into play? I'll tell you. Here's where it gets brilliant. It's something Edward learned in a study of his own. When he drank, I got the headache. Sometimes he would drink me into oblivion. Then I couldn't remember a rummy thing for hours.

By the time he can think straight, Lucy will be gone! Gone, gone, gone. I don't have a blessed clue where, and so much the better.

God, I hate this stuff. I hate alcohol. Can't stand it. I was all serius before my first glass. I'm very serious sober. Except when I'm not. I'm quiet sober, but I'm not now. It doesn't really get better as you have more. It gets bloody worse. But not as worse as Hyde gets when he gets worse. Or as bloody. Do you understand the pun? He kills people when he's drunk! It's a lovely joke. Well, thought of, if I may be so bold.

Is that seven or eight? I should have done more tallys. Tallies. Whichever spelling. Or both. The "ie" looks very much like a "y," you know. They both have a tail on the end of the letter.

But that doesn't make much sense.

Oh, my head hurts. My head doesn't wait to be finished with being drunk. No, it gets the hangover when it pleases. And I've got the hangover now so I might as weell just wait for Edward to wake up. Has it been long enough? I don't know. Should be.

Oh! Mustent forget to put away the book! What if Edward were to stumble upon it? Eh? You didn't think of that, did you? Sure you did! That's why you hide it from Hyde. There I go with the puns again. And I have to finish these last bottles. Bad things will happen if I don't. I'll write again when this is over and I'm sober. Over almost rhymes with sober…


	18. Blood and Tears: Hyde

February 1, 18—

She was beautiful.

I know you think I cannot be touched by beauty, due to the dark condition of my soul. You are wrong.

It's very close to love, feeling such beauty. Perhaps I cannot love. I am forced to agree with you there. I have never felt such servility, such senseless selflessness. I find it all to be without meaning, and I admit that I cannot comprehend any of the reasons behind your actions. But you will agree when you remember it. Your fists will clench, you will fall to your knees as you weep, and you will curse my name, but you will see the beauty. You will call me perverse, inexorable, and barbaric, but you will see the beauty. You will cling to your morality, you will continue to state that you are a good man, you will scream from the intensity of the inward battle.

But you will see the beauty. You will see the fear in her eyes. For once in her life, Lucy Harris was innocent. Death breaks away all the walls and barricades in the mind. Every protective stone is blown away in a shattering instant. The victim is left as helpless mentally as they are physically. They are left as helpless as the moment of their birth.

You surprised me, Henry Jekyll. I thought that you had no secrets from me. I am closer than a wife, am I not? We share a soul. I thought that that meant that we also shared minds. But I did not think that that meant you would use my own tricks against me. How much wine did you drink? Certainly more than I ever did. The bottles are scattered around the study, and all of them are empty. You nearly killed us. I cannot believe I am saying this to you, but there is such a thing as prudence when drinking. When I awoke, I thought you had killed me. I thought that you had finally decided to make a martyr of yourself.

I held onto life. I will be damned before I let you take our lives. Life is far too precious for you to give up. So I fought through your detestable drink-sickness. It has been days. Poole tried to enter the room many times, but your voice is not so hard to imitate. The fool probably couldn't tell your voice form Lanyon's if he tried.

After four days of battling my own possible demise, I was willing to take a risk and venture outside again. I had warned you where I would go, hadn't I? After all, I am not the type to break promises. It's not a sense of honor that keeps me that way. I just like to be taken seriously. I do not make threats, I make decisions.

Lucy's death was an accident. That I will sand firm by. I did not want to kill her. If I had known earlier what you did, I wouldn't have killed her. I would have had to punish her for what she had done, but I wouldn't have killed her. Nevertheless, Henry Jekyll had a plan, and he didn't stop to think of the repercussions, did he? He had to keep his secrets.

Hers is not the first death I have witnessed. It is not the first I have caused. But there was something more personal about Miss Harris's murder. I shared something with her as she died, something that is not found in other relations, something that we did not get from sex, something that you do not find in your love of Emma. Something happened as I forced the knife into her throat. Her hands flitted up to the gash, and her fingertips barely touched it. She tried to raise her hands to look at them, but she was too far gone for that.

When to turn on the tap, water rushes quickly. We never think of it, do we? Why then does a dribble of blood catch the eye? There is nowhere near the mass of liquid that other sources yield. Each drop of blood sends an acutely powerful message. Each drop cries out "I am life itself! Do not waste me!"

All of her blood came out. It ran down her neck, over the knife, over my hands. It was warm and soft, and I do not know what I can compare it to. Perhaps spilled ink. Like so many words unwritten.

Tears welled up in her eyes. They looked out of place. She didn't look sad. Just a little surprised. A little confused. She shuddered, and the tears spilled down her face and ran down to her neck. It's hard to understand how a few random chemicals could compound to release me while the mixture of tears and blood made nothing. There was no hissing of enzymes, no synergistic reactions, nothing. The tears did not even lighten the hue of the blood. Unless you had seen them fall, you would not know they were there. If I hadn't looked into her eyes, I would not have known she was crying. They were useless. Though scientifically useless, it is a philosophical statement. No amount of mourning will bring her back. Your tears will not wash away her blood. Rather, her blood will contaminate your sorrows. Nothing you pray for, nothing you wish for, nothing you mix in that oversized chemistry set of yours will fix what has happened. You can never make things right.

She died within the minute I killed her. Time moved slowly during that minute. Depleted of strength, all she could do was move her eyes. She just looked at me. She didn't speak. I don't think she could. Not from lack of blood, but because I might have severed her vocal chords when I stabbed her. She was also having trouble breathing. Her windpipe might have been damaged. Perhaps the blood was flowing into her lungs. I don't know, but I'm sure she did. I'm sure she felt everything that happened, every drop of blood as it left her. It must have felt warm against her cold skin.

I wasn't removed from this murder. It was not the fun that the others were. I did not lose myself in the moment and laugh at the mirth of it all. Some part of me felt her pain. I understood the gravity of this situation, and knew that this action would change my life as well as hers. It was so much sweeter that way. The moment was filled with the fragility of life. She was dying, as I almost had. I fancy that for the second time in days, I felt the tips of wings brush my cheek as the angel of death passed me by. I know it sounds trite. But close your eyes and recall the moment, Henry. It is not something that most people experience. It was a moment when the world went still, and everything was as silent as her heart.


	19. Mourning: Jekyll

February 2, 18—

He killed Lucy.

I sit here with my pen, attempting to put something in this log-book, but no words come to my head. No ideas for formula changes, no anything. All I can think of is her death.

I loved Lucy. I did not feel for her as I feel for Emma. That is certain. Emma and I have a connection that cannot be emulated. Hyde took my connection to Lucy and defined it in a way I had not wished to view. She was a temptation to me, and a reality for Hyde. I would say that Lucy was a friend to me, but the word "friend" does not describe her. Did not describe her.

She had a life to live. She had yet to play her role in life. Death at the hands of my worse self should not have been her fate. Lucy was destined for great things, not Hyde. She had a mind thirsting to learn, and a spirit that glowed in the sullen slums of London. She could have done something to this world, something that would have alleviated some of the pain she herself felt. She deserved so much more. She deserved a new hope, a new world, a chance to climb out of the seedy taverns, and ram-shackle bedrooms. She deserved a new chance at life.

I killed her. I wish I could have tried harder, conceived a better plan. I should have turned myself in rather than let her come to harm. Yet my plan was worthless. Hyde would have followed her. I tried to give her that chance, but already I had taken it from her the moment the first vial touched my lips.

I cannot control anything any more. He no longer requires the HJ7 to transform. He comes and goes as he likes, and I am powerless to stop it. I have only the vaguest perceptions of his plans. In truth, he does not plan, which is a boon for him. I cannot anticipate his actions. I live in the future, and my every thought is for to-morrow. He could thwart everything I decide to do.

God, what will he do next? Will he find some new prostitute? Will he kill sir Danvers next? Will he kill John, in an effort to silence the only man who knows? Will he go after Emma and

No! I'll kill myself to-night if I must. If I cannot be sure that the doors and walls are locked securely, I will take my life, and end his. I'll drink every chemical in my stores. How can I keep her safe? How can I make sure that Hyde doesn't stop me? He could attack at any second, he could regain control and hunt her down.

I will need John's help. He has promised to kill Hyde. I cannot. I still calculate and compound formulas, but I no longer know if I can do it. My hope fades far faster than I can keep up. All that keeps me here is the HJ7, and that is running out. The sodium phosphorus is gone, and no apothecary in England knows where to find more. All the samples which I receive are useless, inferior to my original shipment. I am unable to make any more.

As my faith in my work degrades, I become ever more convinced that my hand is not the one that will stop Hyde. I have brought this evil into the world, but I cannot destroy it no matter how I try.

I detest the uncertainty of it all. I have become too weak. I caught my reflection in the glass this morning; my own countenance is fearful and foreign. How many transformations have I undertaken? I do not count my time as Hyde, but the way my soul has changed. How it has been corrupted not only by Hyde, but by obsession, imprisonment, fear. How many years have I aged since the start of the experiment? The dates on the pages range over months, but my face says it has been years. It is astonishing that I am not dead already.

It is strange, viewing one's life as a finite amount of time. We all must die someday, but I do not think I have another year. At first, I sobbed, mourning the loss of all to which I have looked forward. I may never have another dinner with Utterson and Lanyon, nor discover a new aspect of science. I will not live to experience life with Emma. I did not want to let go of such a bright and beautiful future. Yet, after Hyde's murders, I have realized that my death will mean safety for thousands. He is incapable of surviving without me, and if I die knowing that he has also died, then death will be the sweetest sensation of all. The most important moment of my life will be the very last.

I still dream of a place in heaven. Every part of my soul craves redemption, and the innocence that is left allows me to hope. Hyde does not wish to share my beliefs, but he knows that he believes what I do, and that scares him. Death will not be a release for him. He knows he must find his paradise on Earth. He has always known that he must make his own disgusting, carnal paradise. I wish to take the moral high ground (as always), but I feel a guilty pleasure in the idea that Hyde will receive comeuppance. He revels in my suffering, and I look forward to his. It is not a very Christian thought, but Hyde himself has taught me not to run from the truth.

It is the only thing to which I can look forward in death.


	20. Confrontation: Duet

February 14, 18—

I hold the last vial in my hand. It is the EH1.

It is identical to the HJ7. It is filled precisely to the ten-centiliter mark with the bright green formula. The last of the sodium phosphorus bubbles slightly as it reacts. It looks so similar, but its chemical makeup is very different. I hope that the effect will be just as different.

I will have to consume it very soon. My timing will have to be perfect. I must wait until the last possible second before Hyde takes over. I need to drink it during the transformation, so that it will be in effect by the time Hyde has taken control.

If I drink before that time, it will only accelerate the transformation, and I will be trapped as Hyde, with no foreseeable liberation. If I wait too long, I will never get a chance to drink it.

As I wait for Hyde, I am fighting my own need for the formula. My hands tremble, my stomach aches with hunger (yet revolts when it receives food), my skin is clammy and covered in a cold sweat. I remember clearly how these awful symptoms became when I attempted to break free of the drug. I have not been driven to madness by them this time, but if Hyde is able to outwait me, than I will be in peril.

I have set a looking-glass upon my desk, so that I might see the transformation this time. I will feel it coming, but a morbid curiosity wills me to watch. It is painful to behold my face. It used to be charming, (if I may pen such a vain remark), and I smiled even when I wasn't particularly happy. Emma once called my normal expression one of bemusement.

I do not think I am capable of smiling any more. My hair is pulled back sloppily, for the sole purpose of keeping it out of my eyes. It has not been trimmed, and the ragged ends do nothing to help the appearance. I am not yet thirty, yet white hair has begun to invade my scalp, growing in where I have pulled out my hair in frustration. My skin is pale from avoidance of sunlight, and it does not look fashionable at all against the bruises left by Hyde's rancorous self-abuse. Last week, he began spitefully to attack himself, with the perverse knowledge that my frail body would suffer even more than his own under his assaults. The bruises range all over my body, and there is a particularly malicious one under my right eye. He may have broken the cheekbone, but I have no supplies with which to fix it. I can only wait for it to heal, and refrain from speaking. My lips are chapped and raw, from a habit of nervous biting. The worst of all to see, though, are my eyes.

I have fought back tears nearly continuously since Lucy's death. The strain of crying harms the blood vessels in the eyes, causing the saddened subject's eyes to redden. Th strain of constant crying has ruptured several blood vessels in my eyes, turning the whites red. My blue eyes seem strangely impure against the crimson of the blood. Though I try to soften my stare, they are still tormented eyes. Anyone who saw them would know that they have watched horrors.

Would a million years be able to restore my face? What would I have to do to regain the ability to smile? I fear I never will again.

The pain begins. Should I never be seen again, I have only one thing to say to the world:

I am sorry.

(_Here the log-book is smeared with ink, and the page is bent and torn. The writing continues on the next page, in two similar styles of handwriting, one slanted to the right, the other to the left. The reader can easily distinguish between the two._)

**You think that you can win. You still have hope. I thought that I'd crushed that from you long ago.**

I will yet beat you. I have completed the EH1. It is destroying you right now. The world will be

**Better off? Count the bodies, Jekyll. How many have I killed? The world would have been better off had you never been born! The only person who profits from your life is me. And I thank you for**

Setting you free? Keep it. Keep your sarcastic remarks. I am tired of them. I am tired of having to listen to your cynical voice, tired of hearing

**The truth. That is all I say. And that's what hurts you so much. Because you don't want to see an imperfect world. You want everyone to be innocent and upright. You never admitted that you were as base, as wicked as everyone else.**

That was the foundation of my experiment! I realized that I was as impure as any other man on earth.

**You may have admitted it out loud, but deep down you never really came to terms with me. With yourself. You dreamed of a perfect soul, of a heart free of darkness.**

But I did not and do not have one. Try to separate ambition from reality, Hyde. Just because I yearn for something, that does not mean I shall ever achieve it. You do not stop until you have whatever you want. When you cannot have what you wish, you gnash your teeth and rage with all the fury of an angry child. You obsess and

**Do not speak of obsession, unless it is your own. When you cannot have something, you work at your desk until it is possible. You complained and whined about the Governors at St. Jude's, but I actually did something about them. You dedicate your life to impossibilities, and your new goal is just as unachievable.**

This formula will rid the world of you forever. I will continue my life as before, and no one will ever know. My silence will hide you better than any locked door. It is not a choice. You will die.

**Ha! You think that you can control me? You can't stop the transformations. You don't decide when to come back. All your will, your strength, has been siphoned into me, and I have far more now than you ever did. I have power over everything now!**

You have no power if I'm dead. You need me to live. I have existed without you, and I can resume that life. When I return, my friends will note the change. I will come out of this shell of a life, and I will celebrate. They may not know why, but they will know that I have changed for the better, that I have run my gauntlet and won. Only I will need to mark your passing. All that matters is that you will die.

**I'll never die. If I don't take over as you, then things will be even worse. I will continue to thrive off you. No one will ever know the difference between us. I'll let everyone know who you really are. Who I am. Our names will forever be mentioned in the same breath!**

Stop it. Stop it! I will consume the antidote now, and you will die! I'll resume my life and be a good man…

**Henry, it isn't worth fighting for. I am pure. You aren't good. You are me.**

No. You may be a part of me, but I'll never be like you.

**You were, are, and forever will be me. Deep down, you've enjoyed everything I've done.**

**Especially killing Lucy.**

God damn you, Hyde. Take all your evil doings and rot in Hell!

**If we die, and I find myself locked in whatever pit they have reserved for me, I'll be able to endure the eons of eternal torment. I'll abide whatever tortures they dream of. Would you like to know why? It's because I know that whenever it gets to be too much, whenever I think I might submit- I'll only have to look up, and see you suffering beside me. See you in Hell, Jekyll.**

Never!

_(There is more liquid spilled on this page, staining it the color of the aforementioned EH1. The liquid pervades the rest of the pages, and there is no way of knowing whether he drank enough-or any at all- of the antidote.)_


	21. Epilogue: Emma

May 25, 18—

It is hard to write in this journal. This is the third time I've taken up a pen to try to write; it is the first time I have succeeded in doing so. It feels wrong, writing in something that belongs to him. Part of me wants to stop now, and leave this book the way I found it, to leave it to be solely filled with Henry's words. However, it would feel even worse to leave the story where it stands. That is what this journal became. Somewhere amidst all the calculations, this was no longer a log-book for the documentation of science, but the tale of the writer's struggle.

I do not say that my motives are purely narrative. I hope that no one else will ever read this journal. I have not been able to talk to anyone about any of this, and writing in here is as close as I can feel to Henry now. I cannot see him, and addressing him as if he were here would be childish, but this is one small comfort that I feel he would not begrudge.

John Utterson called a week after the funeral, and gave this to me. He said that I deserved to know what had really happened to Henry. He also asked me not to show it to anyone else. After reading the contents, I do not think that I should have any trouble with that request. It is bad enough that the whole of London knows what happened at the wedding. It would be worse for everyone to think that he was a killer.

I miss him. Sometimes I feel as if he has been in his laboratory again, that he has locked himself in for further study. At those times, I want to rush to his house and see him. It would be worth it to see him, even if he were irate and cross with me, as he so often was after being pulled from his studies. I can still hear him, rambling quickly through topics and formulae that I will never understand. I miss his laugh, a deep sound that was always filled with mirth. And I wish I could look into his eyes just one more time. They were always an open book, they always told the truth, no matter how distant and cordial he tried to be in front of Father and Simon. I want to be in his arms again, to feel safe and sheltered from the games and tricks of society, to be with one person who cares about more than social standing.

He was so sweet before the wedding. Now that I've read his own story, I know that his liberation was a product of the antidote. For a month, everything seemed to be all right. He seemed to be back to his old self, better even. We saw each other nearly every day. He sat with my Father and Aunt as they planned the wedding. I doubt that he did any work during that time. He apologized for his absence multiple times a day, and he used to joke about it half-heartedly with John Utterson. But he always looked as if he were cold when he spoke of it, and indeed, many times gooseflesh rose upon his arms, and he shivered. I thought that the subject was best left alone, but I still wondered. Though he continued to visit his father, Henry had given up on his dream. Henry no longer spoke of compounds or reactions, and when I attempted to engage his interest on a discussion of morality, he changed the subject. I decided to wait, and ask him sometime after we were married.

The wedding was a dream. Loved ones were there, and the chapel was as lovely as my Aunt had imagined, but I was more interested in Henry. After all, it was to be the end of going days without hearing from him. It was to be the start of a life with him. Our lives were set before us, waiting to begin!

Henry was just as happy as I was. In the month since he had "returned," it was if he had set down a burden. I had not known how awful his experiments truly were, but I guessed that his genial behavior had something to do with them. Though I supported his dreams, I resolved that he would never take up such an obsession again, out of fear for his welfare. He seemed to be stronger, livelier, and much happier. Henry was in such a good humor, he found it in his heart to be nice to Simon. When Henry took my hand at the altar, it was the best moment of both our lives. His eyes were shining with tears of joy, and I knew I was crying as well.

That is how I always want to remember him. I want to recall his face in that happiness. I want to remember how we waited for how it all should have been. I do not want to remember what happened next.

Henry doubled over, as if someone had hit him in the stomach. He stood up, and his eyes were wide, and filled with a horror unlike I have ever seen. He was gasping for breath, he turned to John Utterson, and said, "I need to get outside. I need to breathe." John took Henry by the arm, to help him get outside, but with a terrible scream, Henry fell to the floor, writhing and jerking, as if in the clutches of epilepsy. I rushed forward to help him, but he sprang to his feet.

He was not Henry. He looked similar, and those who were there believe he had contracted a ailment, a temporary madness of some kind. But I have spent many hours in his company, and I know every expression of his face, every look that has ever inhabited his eye. The stare with which he regarded me was bestial, horrific. He seized me by the arms, and gripped me with the furious strength of a demon. He yelled cruel words at the guests, screamed, called them all hypocrites. When he threatened my honor, Simon tried to rescue me. The man who was not Henry smashed a bottle of champagne, and killed Simon with the glass shards.

The guests wanted to run, to scream, and several other men, my father included, looked as if about to follow Simon to his grave by repeating his mistake. But as the man who was not Henry leered at me, I knew that somewhere, he still had to be there.

I knew I could reach him. "Henry, please. I know that you can hear me, and I know that you'd never hurt me."

The man who was not Henry shuddered, and his features became closer to the ones I loved. His eyes were so sad and scared. He gently pushed me away from him, and looked at John, who had drawn a gun. John shook his head, and made to put the gun away, but another spasm contorted Henry's features. John kept his gun pointed at Henry, but did not move. Henry shook again, and the demon inside him threatened to release itself once more. Henry's voice was weak, he stood bent over, clutching his arms, as if fighting his inner foe. He looked at John, and in a broken voice said, "Please John." John Utterson shook his head, but Henry spoke again, more determined this time, "You promised."

Utterson looked at Henry, and I knew what he was about to do. I wanted to stop him, to stand in front of Henry, but the conflict in front of me seemed to be miles away, and I could not move. John aimed the gun, and said, "I'm sorry, Henry."

And then he shot him. Henry was not himself as he screamed and clutched his chest. John fired again, and Henry was doused with blood. The sound of the gun firing brought me back from my mind into the room, and I ran to Henry, lifting him from the floor, into my arms.

He tried to grab my arm, and clutch my hair, and was not himself as he whispered my name. "Emma."

He fell back as he moaned in pain, and said my name again. "Emma."

Then he looked into my eyes, and there was the smallest hint of a smile. There was peace in his eyes, and he was the Henry I knew, as he found my hand, and spoke my name with the last of his life. "Emma."

What followed were weeks of people calling to pay their respects. Weeks of people who had never cared for Henry before. Weeks of people trying to console me by being thankful that he had died before we were married. I have told every one of them that I wish I were his widow now. I would much rather be Mrs. Henry Jekyll, to stand behind his name without humiliation. I loved him, and I know that I still do. It has been months since his death, yet I still think of him everyday, and I have yet to remove his engagement ring from my finger.

I had trouble forgiving John Utterson. I am still angry, and I do not know if I shall ever be able to forgive him. I wish that Henry were still here, that I could do something to help. That is, I suppose, why John gave me Henry's Log-book. So that I could try to understand what Henry had done to himself, and why John Utterson's choice was tolerable. Henry no longer has to worry that his cruel counterpart will return to hunt those he loved. He has to be at peace now, safe from the world, and knowing that the world is safe from him.

Henry is free now. He is with me now. And that is where he'll always be.

_Well, folks I don't know how some of you guys did it, but you held out for so long to hear the end of this. This is something that I've always wanted to write, and it was great hearing that there are more Jekyll and Hyde fans out there. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and asked questions and made me write to the best of my abilities. I hope to meet you guys in future fics. I am thinking of a sequel, using League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, so that I can keep writing as Henry. So keep an eye out, and thank you all so very much!_


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